Them
by Prelude of the Night
Summary: A story revolving around a tribute called Klara and Haymitch. [OC X Haymitch] Well... give it a shot and let me know what you think :D Should I keep writing?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I had originally planned this to be fan fiction between a younger version of President Snow and OC, but now I think I'm leaning more towards Haymitch and OC ^-^ What do you think? I listened to lots of Nils Frahm and Library Tapes while writing this, so perhaps you might want to listen to a few pieces of theirs to get into the mood I was writing with. I'd recommend 'Them' by Nils Frahm and 'A summer by the sea (solo piano)' as well as 'Fragment VIII' by Library Tapes. Thank you for giving a shot :D**

 _ **Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my original characters.**_

 **Chapter 1:**

I remembered that my mother used to have long dark hair that shimmered under the summer sun as she bent to pluck fresh fruits in our garden. It was small, but it gave us a lot, it kept us alive during our hardest times. Our stomachs were never full, but we survived.

This was when I was five years old, and to be honest, I felt older than five as I stared out into the black cinder streets as miners lugged in their dirty work clothes, the hopelessness in their eyes evident under the heavy grey sky. Their gloves were torn and beyond repair, their shirts rugged and worn. I came to a realisation -a very crushing one- that I would end up like them as well. Hope was just in another dimension. There was always an unsettling feeling in my chest as I thought about it at night when I went to sleep, and I would curl up against my mother's body for comfort. Most often with tear stains permanently etched into the back of her clothes.

Then, when my mother cooked, as I helped her, she said quietly. "Klara, we make the most out of what we have."

I almost cut a finger when I jolted out of my reverie. The carrots lay still, waiting to be chopped.

Then she didn't say anything afterwards. Damien noticed the odd silence during our dinner. He was older than me by four years and had strong shoulders and our father's chiseled jaws. Many girls giggled as he passed by, blushes painting their cheeks.

He paused for a moment, taking brief glances in each of our directions and continued eating.

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably then ate what was left of our half-rotten salad.

Her words were still playing in my head. Flash forwards ten years, and I thought of this as I squinted under the bright sun. Masses of children and teenagers lining up to the death row. Waiting to be picked up in this unfortunate Reaping. Hoping that the odds would go in their favour and save them another year.

I could see Damien in between the adults, squeezed tightly until his broad body shrunk. He was looking at me carefully, giving an imperceptible nod as I moved forward for registry.

The hiss of pain as the woman behind the makeshift desk clicked the needle into my skin, her monotonous gaze setting onto the next child, passing on a paper scribbled neatly with my name.

Klara Dermon.

Father deceased. Mother deceased. One brother, who was nineteen.

Suddenly, time moved too fast and I found myself in a position that even my brother couldn't help.

Effie Trinket's cheerful voice as she called out my name.

"Klara Dermon!"

The death silence that ensued and I pushed forward to the stage, meeting the gaze of the boy who had the same fate. He had pale complexion and sunken cheekbones. His wide blue eyes were shrieking with terror but his lips were sealed shut in acceptance of his future. I looked away, held my chin high, struggling to hold back the tears watering in my eyes. I saw Damien gaping in shock, bustling to get closer but being held by two Peacekeepers.

"Well, let's move on then shall we?" Effie said.

No, I thought in reply.

 _Klara, we make the most out of what we have._

••

"Stay focused," my brother says again, reiterating the two words. His hands are on my shoulders and they give a reassuring grip.

His green eyes look into mine with determination and sympathy.

I give him a small smile and he burst out a sob.

"Now it's you.." says Damien, wiping off a tear.

"I'll be alright, I promise," I say quickly, biting my lip to restrain myself from sobbing.

He pats me a few times on my back, gently rubs it then the Peacekeepers call out to signal time is up.

He gets up and looks at me for the final time, then exits the big doors.

I can taste blood in my mouth from biting too hard.

••

"My name's Kieran," the boy introduces, holding out a shaky hand. I look at it for a moment before giving a handshake.

We get on the train and the doors slide shut. Effie walks in her clacking high heels around the table, which is adorned with a basket of fruits and unlit candles. Both Kieran and I share a glance before dipping into the cushioned seats to dig into the food.

Effie's face wrinkles in disapprovement then sees me looking. She quickly hides it behind one of her fake smiles. "Perhaps we should wait for lunch? Should be out in a few minutes or so..."

I savour an apple and another one, paying no attention to Effie's obvious distress. If only she knew the hunger in District 12.

Two men in white suits enter the train car from the other side and one of them steps forward to take orders. Effie murmurs softly the name of the food, peeking occasionally as she picks from the lush menu for us.

As we eat, there is another man that comes in but he isn't one of the servants. His very presence infects the air around us with the unpleasant scent of alcohol. I have seen him from the Reaping, staggering to keep still in his own seat. Haymitch Abernathy closes himself home right next to Effie, who stiffens immediately.

His grey eyes gleam under the artificial light and a scruffy beard covers his jaws down to his neck. What is supposed to be a three piece suit is now downsized to shirtsleeves being rolled to the elbows and jacket strewn somewhere else. The vest is half-buttoned as well.

He gives me a jerk of a nod. "And what are you looking at?"

I stare pointedly at him for a moment then my gaze falls to watch myself cut the poor lamb into pieces. I hear him mutter some curse words and all of us bend into an unspoken mutual agreement to eat without words.

••

Evening falls and I head into my own room with the guide of a silent servant. He pushes the door close and I'm left all alone. The window glass ran from the ceiling to the floor, providing excellent view of thick forests blurring as the train speeds by. My fingers stick together uncomfortably from the fruit juices and I licked them. Memories of home and my mother flashed and I sucked on my index finger extra longer to simply end the image of grabbing an apple high up in the tree behind our house.

There is a chest of drawers in the centre of the wall opposite the big bed. Right next to it is a door I assume leads to the bathroom. I slide open a few drawers to reveal clothes differing in sizes, but accommodating mostly to mine, which is average. I spend the rest of my time under the hot spray of water thinking strategies on how to stay alive. I know that I can climb well, I can throw a few punches even though I'm not an expert, and at times I throw knives to prepare for the Games. The last part is illegal but hey, if you want to survive you have to do everything you can, right?

Damien never complains when he sees the holes I cause with the knives. Instead, he helps me to improve accuracy by adjusting a few limbs and my muscle position. And curls the lock of hair behind my ear when we're both satisfied with a smile. I ignore the thought and twist the shower knob. The water stops its assault and I dress in loose trousers and fitting shirt.

I climb under the covers, heart aching with shock and homesickness. My tears have long dried up in my mother's dress when we slept together, so nothing came out as I rocked myself to sleep. In the end, I motionlessly stare at the high ceiling above and watch shadows change shapes overtime.

 **..**

 **That's it for Chapter 1 :) Tell me if you like it or hate it, any constructive criticism would be much appreciated. I don't write so much but I'm trying to because I'd like to improve my English literacy. Chances of this being continued is probably 50-50. I rarely continue my stories and I HOPE I can at least get some proper closure for this one if readers insist.**

 ****A random fun fact: I took my OC's names subconsciously as Klara because i had watched a Danish film last night called 'Jagten' and Kieran because I had watched 'The GIrl With All the GIfts' few days ago. I didn't realise until I sat back and thought of the movies I had just watched...****


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! I re-read Hunger Games book earlier on while writing and a lot of the scenes in this chapter are based from it. Credits belong to where they are due. And I notice that my characters barely interact with each other :/ I'll see what I can do, but if you have any advice please mention it in your reviews. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my original characters.**

 **Chapter 2:**

When I wake up the next morning, pale dawn light filters through the crystal clear glass. The sun has not risen yet and I walk to the bathroom. The mirror reflects the image of a girl with sleep tousled hair, dark streams of hair locks tumbling down over her shoulders, half-curly as they go down. I wipe my eyes with my hands and wash my face with the cold water.

After several stumbles in the shower (the buttons were all too unfamiliar to me) I finally manage to find some decent clothes; a grey blouse and a long seamless black pants. I apply one of the foreign cream on my skin and its scent is wonderfully calming. Charming lavender. I dry my hair with a towel after several squeezes and slip into the darkness of the main lounge.

The servants, Avoxes, I heard somewhere, motion me to sit in one of the plush chairs as they begin to prep on breakfast. I wait patiently, intertwining my fingers together until I hear a clumsy slam of a door. An unwelcome scent of strong spirits fill my nostrils and I do my best not to gag as Haymitch settles in opposite me. His eyes are bloodshot red and they carefully scrutinise me before flicking a finger for an Avox to pass on a bottle.

"Slept well sweetheart?" he says, twisting open a cork and sipping.

"Couldn't," I say, and look somewhere else.

Haymitch laughs suddenly and I frown at him.

What rubbish of a mentor is he going to be? I think angrily.

No wonder none of the kids from District 12 survived.

He seems to sense this as he roughly puts back the bottle on the table and crosses his arms. Haymitch gives me a long study that makes me uncomfortable under his gaze.

Just then, the Avoxes serve multiple plates of delicacy. I simultaneously ignore the man before me while I eat sausages, give a light cough into my napkin and gulp down fresh orange juice.

The sun peeks between the clouds and finally morning light casts its glow into the train car. Our cutlery glints with the light as we eat, Haymitch swallowing the rest of the bottle.

Effie and Kieran come after a few minutes and they sit with a trace of disgust displayed across their faces but ultimately adjusting their line of scent after a while.

Effie starts blabbering. "We're not far from the Capitol and it's best that you smile and wave to those who do to you. You can get sponsorship easily doing so," she continues.

I don't reply, and neither does Kieran. Giving him a one-over again, he looks like he grew smaller in his sleep and his skin has become pasty white. His eyes are red-rimmed from a night full with tears and he struggles to even eat a spoonful of mushroom soup. His fingers temble.

I sigh inwardly and finish the rest of my food.

When I look up, Haymitch is regarding both of us with a pained expression on his face but it dissipates as quickly as it comes. There is no flicker of emotion shown afterwards, his time spent ungraciously with mindless drinking.

He turns and his eyes lock with mine again.

I don't flinch this time.

••

When we arrive, there is a flock of reporters who are dressed as equally disturbing as Effie Trinket. Hair dyed in neon colours that makes my eyes hurt, their faces moulded into grotesque fashion according to their own sick

preferences which include the enlargening of a nose and widening the lips until they reach ear to ear. I hold out a hand to cover my eyes from the insistent camera flashes.

With the shield over my sight, it's impossible to move through the bustling crowd. I feel a hand around my back persuading me forward until we reach somewhere I don't recognise. Of course.

The hand drops from my body and Haymitch appears beside me.

••

I've been at the Remake Centre for several hours and my teeth are becoming numb from gritting together tightly for too long. The trio who are in charge rip the last shreds of hair from my skin and huff in satisfaction. I am totally naked. They tweeze several stray strands in private areas to the more obvious ones like my legs and arms.

Flavius abandons the tweezers and looks at me with a grin. It stretches into a monstrous display of his teeth.

"Octavia!" he calls out to another team mate. He exchanges a conversation with her and Octavia gives me an approving smile.

"I'll be right back with Cinna," she says. I guess it must be the stylist.

The rest of them file out of the cold room and I swing my legs over the table top with my arms folded across my chest. My dressing robe is right at the corner but I know I won't need that for now. Cinna will want to see me without clothes, I rationalise.

After a few minutes or so, a man enters in plain black shirt and surprisingly looks normal. His eyes are cautious and observant, taking every inch of my skin in detail as he walks towards me.

"Hello there," says Cinna.

"Hello," I murmur.

He stops just a few feet away and gestures for me to stand. "Why don't you stand here for a moment?"

I obey silently like an Avox and feel his eyes roam over my naked body. He prods around me quietly, never touching but somehow I can tell he must have memorised every curve and slant. He finally stops in front of me.

I notice his eyes are traced lightly with a gold eyeliner, the only giveaway as a Capitol citizen.

"You have a very slim body," he proffers. I manage a shy smile.

Cinna grabs the robe from the corner and holds it out for me to wear. "We can have a talk and eat lunch."

Again, I obey his orders and both of us enter a room from one of the doors.

Inside, there is a long dining table and we take our seats across from each other. I don't meet his gaze but he never seems to take his eyes off of me.

"You're very quiet too," he says.

"I'm sorry," I apologise, and face upwards to make an eye contact.

Cinna stays still but gives a nod. He reaches out a finger to press a built-in button in the centre of the table and suddenly the square shaped centre opens to expose newly made meals.

Green rolls, creamy liquid served in bowls with rosemary at the top, peas and thinly sliced chicken. I ponder at the bizzare differences between District 12 and the Capitol. How easily they can quench their hunger while the rest of us starve and force labour for their own benefits.

While we eat, the conversation continues in between bites.

"Kieran is being handled by Portia," he says matter-of-factly. "She and I have been discussing some new approach to the Opening Ceremony, for a change. Something that will strike people."

I remember how the tributes from District 12 had once been stark naked and powdered with coal. The thought makes me cringe.

Cinna takes notes of my subtle reaction and reassures me. "I promise it won't repeat any past ideas."

Then what?

••

 **That's it for chapter 2. I know the first chapter (and perhaps even this one) doesn't have much Haymitch moments so I'm sorry for the slow development. Please review :) Any suggestion/idea for the story is also appreciated. Thank you!**

 ****Random fun fact: I love Coldplay and I literally burst into happiness when they announced 'Atlas' as part of the Catching Fire soundtrack.****


End file.
